


Betazoid Reflexology

by Anonymous



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Alien/Human Relationship, Creative use of medical equipment, Empath, F/F, Foot Fetish, Socks, Tickling, light xenophilia, toe sucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-20
Updated: 2021-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-28 23:22:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30147195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Beverly loves Deanna. That's easy enough to say.It's less easy for her to admit just how much she loves Deanna's feet.
Relationships: Beverly Crusher/Deanna Troi
Comments: 1
Kudos: 1
Collections: Kink Lucky Dip





	Betazoid Reflexology

**Author's Note:**

  * For [webofdreams89](https://archiveofourown.org/users/webofdreams89/gifts).



They break gently apart from a long, intimate kiss. Both a little flushed, a little breathless. Their eyes meet, and what passes between them is desire, and affirmation of desire. _Do you want this? I do. Is it really all right? It is._

Beneath the starfield viewports that yawn above their bed, Beverly slides down, kisses her way down her body—her breasts, her stomach (a slight, sensitive shiver there), the bare curve of her hip... Beverly catches the tart, inviting scent of Deanna's arousal, but much as she loves to be between her thighs, that's not where she's going right now. No, she moves further down, down, her heart hammering in her chest as she passes by Deanna's sweet, pink knees, all the way down to the end of the bed and off it. She sits down on the gray-carpeted floor as Deanna maneuvers herself down so that her feet dangle off the edge of the mattress.

Her feet.

Right at eye level. Still in Starfleet-issue black socks, the kind with that smooth, synthetic sheen. The half-illumination glitters along them as Deanna levers her ankles up and down. Rubs one foot teasingly against the other. Beverly glances up and sees Deanna up on her elbows, watching her with a flirtatious grin. The fabric of her socks stretches to near-transparency as she wriggles her toes within them.

Beverly swallows over her suddenly dry tongue. The carpet is thin and not the most comfortable seat with just her nightgown on, but that feels like a very far-away concern when instead she can think about how Deanna is wearing socks because she knows Beverly likes to see them. Likes to touch them. Likes to take them off.

Beverly draws in her lips in a nervous kind of smile. She's done this before, yet her hand is trembling a little as she curls her fingertips into the cuff of Deanna's sock. Feels the gentle, elastic resistance as she slowly, slowly peels it down. Exposing the delicate bump of her ankle bone. Rounding the corner of her heel—pink and ever so slightly rough around the edges. Deanna points her toes to make it easier, gently and joyfully surrendering to Beverly doing this. The fabric slides smoothly along Deanna's arch, revealing her soft, pale sole.

When the sock hangs crumpled on the end of Deanna's foot, concealing her toes, Beverly pauses. Makes herself wait to see that. Instead, she places her fingertips on the ball of Deanna's foot and draws them firmly down to her heel, feeling that sensuous curve under her fingers, the slight warm slickness of a foot that's been trapped inside a boot all day—just as Beverly's been waiting all day to get her hands on it.

Deanna is lying back on the bed now, her arms crossed comfortably behind her head, and she lets out a low hum of pleasure.

_A memory flickers across Beverly's mind of that evening months ago, when their relationship was new, and they were relaxing companionably by the viewport after a long day on duty, and for the first time, Deanna put her bare feet casually in Beverly's lap._

_The way her heart pounded as she began to massage them—innocently, of course, as any attentive partner would do. Feeling the delicate lines of Deanna's feet beneath her fingertips, and hearing that hum of pleasure, seeing Deanna's eyelashes flutter shut as she firmly rubbed her heels. The secret thrum between Beverly's thighs that all too late she realized wasn't going to stay a secret for long._

_Deanna's eyes opened, and so did her mouth, in a silent little surprised oh. "You... ah."_

_"What?" Beverly asked, mentally scrambling to somehow conceal her thoughts, as though they could be hidden like an erotic holonovel somewhere deep in an encrypted archive._

_"I hate to be presumptuous," Deanna said gently, "but I can sense that this arouses you." And as if this weren't embarrassing enough as it was, she added for mortifying clarity: "Touching my feet."_

_Beverly felt her cheeks blushing furiously. "Oh, no... I mean, not that it's— I just thought your feet must be tired, and you might like having them massaged, and you seemed to be enjoying it, and..." Her words stumbled over each other as she watched Deanna's smile grow maddeningly bigger and bigger. "...and it's... it's... it's really pointless to lie to an empath, isn't it?" she concluded with a defeated sigh._

_Deanna's grin dissolved into a laugh as she nodded. "I'm afraid so. But, since you can't sense me, I'll let you in on a secret." As she leaned in close to Beverly's ear, she rubbed her bare sole deliberately, sensually against her palm. "It arouses me, too."_

Beverly rubs her thumbs firmly into Deanna's sole, finding and attending to all the spots that make her gasp and arch on the bed. It's still hard for her to admit, sometimes, how much she enjoys it, but it helps to know she's not the only one who feels that ache between her legs when they do this—it's both of them.

Unable to wait any longer, Beverly plucks the sock away and reveals Deanna's toes. So tiny and perfectly smooth, like beach-worn stones. With a small giggle, Deanna scrunches and then spreads them, showing the slight webbing in between—the mark of her species' aquatic origin.

Beverly presses her lips against those alien toes, eagerly breathing in the clean, sharp scent of her sweat. In honesty, these aren't the kind of toes Beverly used to fantasize about in secret moments in bed alone, but now, as she kisses them wetly, lets her tongue explore the delicate, sensitive webbing, she finds they're more erotic than anything else, simply because of who they belong to.

"Oh yes, _please_ ," Deanna moans, throwing her head back as Beverly draws each round little toe into her mouth and gives it loving attention, sucking and licking. "That feels _wonderful_."

The salt of Deanna's skin brings Beverly a faint, happy sense-memory of swimming in the ocean on easy summer days, tasting the sea on her lips. It's with that kind of joyous freedom that Beverly swirls her tongue around Deanna's toes, flicks it over the webbing, and sucks in between there too, hearing Deanna's cries of delight like rushing waves and the calls of shorebirds flying free.

She turns to Deanna's other, still hidden foot, and trails her fingertips over the slick-smooth fabric of her sock, from toes to cuff. She can't bear to do a long striptease this time; her lips and fingers itch to play with this foot too. She peels the sock off quickly and buries her face in its sole, inhaling deeply, feeling the heat that rises from Deanna's damp skin.

Beverly moans into Deanna's arch, kissing up and down. Her heart is still racing but her mouth is now far from dry; in fact she's practically salivating over Deanna's feet, blushing deeply over her animalistic desire for them. She grasps them both and holds them together, licks hungrily across them both, one to the other, leaving bold wet stripes across Deanna's soles. When she finally makes herself pull back, she's almost out of breath. She rubs Deanna's feet, one hand on each, and dares to peek up at her, feeling a moment of shyness at having revealed so much of herself.

Deanna lifts her head up to peer down at her, smiling. "I love it when you play with my feet," she says, with that simple, burdenless ease that sometimes makes Beverly envious.

"Well, that's good," Beverly sighs wryly, drawing her fingers admiringly around the borders of her precious soles. "Because, as you may have noticed, they drive me absolutely crazy."

Deanna laughs, her eyes glistening in delight. "I've gotten that impression, yes."

Beverly lets the touch of her fingertips gradually lighten, turning from rubbing to stroking, stroking to ghostly brushing. "And, if I'm not mistaken," she says, raising a sly eyebrow, "there's something else you like done with your feet, isn't there?"

She wriggles her fingertips up the tender side of her foot. Deanna gasps sharply and bites her lip, nodding eagerly.

_The memory of the first time a massage got a little too light—Deanna's sudden gasp as Beverly's fingertips accidentally brushed against the tips of her toes._

_"Oh—! That tickles!"_

_"Sorry."_

_"No, don't apologize... Do it again."_

_"You... like being tickled?" Beverly asked, bewildered._

_And in that same playful, confidential tone she used when talking about chocolate, Deanna corrected her: "I love being tickled."_

They hold each other's gaze and Deanna holds her breath, clenching her fists in anticipation as Beverly slowly, sinuously plays her fingertips up and down her soles, not tickling yet, but promising it with every stroke.

"I think somebody's ticklish," Beverly sing-songs softly. "Is that right?"

Deanna nods again, scrunching up her shoulders, bracing herself, grinning giddily.

Watching her closely, Beverly pauses, her fingertips resting against the balls of her feet, and then wriggles them like waterfalls down to her heels.

Deanna jerks and lets out a mouse-like squeak of surprise, which is so damn adorable, it fills Beverly with fierce affection—and the wicked need to make her do it again.

"Tickle, tickle," Beverly teases, tapping swiftly back up to her toes—a squeak, a pause—and then down again. "Tickle, tickle, tickle!"

"Beverly, you're driving me crazy," Deanna giggles, tapping her heels on the end of the bed.

"Oh, but I haven't even started yet," Beverly says innocently, drawing a little spiral in the center of Deanna's sole with her fingertip.

Deanna starts to explain, "I know! It's the anticipa—AH!" But she never gets the word out, because Beverly chooses that moment to tickle all over Deanna's soles. A squeak turns to giggle, and giggles turn to a river of helpless laughter.

They've done this before, and Beverly knows her ticklish feet so well... the tender creases in the centers of her soles... the slightly tougher skin of her heels that respond to firmer pressure and even fingernails scratching there... the exquisitely sensitive tips of her toes... It's like playing an instrument, drawing out all kinds of lovely sounds from Deanna's lips.

She could so easily pull her feet away, but instead she holds them steady for Beverly to tickle, stretching back her own toes to make her skin as taut and sensitive as possible, even as she squeaks and laughs, squirming and fisting her hands in the silvery bedsheets.

As always, Beverly finds herself laughing too—in the pure contagiousness of it, and in sheer joy at how much fun it is to do this to her, to render her speechless and helpless with giggles with nothing more than a few gentle brushes of her fingertips.

And it does other things to her too. Soon, Deanna's laughter is interlaced with moans; she makes circles with her hips on the bed as Beverly brushes her fingertips rapidly back and forth, traveling all over her soles.

"It feels so good!" Deanna half-laughs, half-moans. "Oh, more, please more..."

_"Usually when I say I like to be tickled," Deanna confided, "my partners will do it a little bit, but then they stop before I really want them to. Sometime, if you're interested..." She locked onto Beverly's eyes with a smoldering gaze, sensuously rubbing the arch of her foot against Beverly's leg. "...I think I'd like you to make it very... very ticklish."_

Nervous energy builds up in Beverly's stomach at the thought of doing _more_. She knows what it means—they've talked about it—and she wants it too, but it's yet another of those internal barriers she has to get past. Deanna always seems to leap over them with effortless grace, while Beverly has to drag herself up and over each one like those obstacle course climbing walls at the Academy.

But with Deanna, it's always been worth it.

Beverly stops and rubs her palms up and down Deanna's soles, giving her a break. It takes a minute for her giggles to trail off; she's flushed, breathing hard, her dark nipples hard peaks on her breasts.

"So... more?" Beverly asks, feeling an anxious flutter something like stage-fright.

"Mm- _hm_ ," Deanna replies emphatically, smiling and relaxed.

With a sense of pushing herself to take the plunge of a diving board, Beverly fumbles around under the bed, looking for what she stowed there earlier, anticipating this.

"I've got, um..." She tucks her hair behind her ear, knowing her face is red as she stumbles through her explanation. "And it's fine if you're not interested, but I've got something that I think might..."

Deanna props herself up on her elbows and cranes her neck to see. Her eyes widen—not in shock, thank goodness, but in bright curiosity. "Oh, isn't that...?"

"It's a dermal regenerator," Beverly says quickly, as if talking faster will make this easier. She cradles it in her hands, flustered. "I've reprogrammed it so that it won't actually do anything—medically, I mean—but at these settings it should just... you know..."

"Tickle?" Deanna suggests, grinning like the Cheshire cat.

Beverly clears her throat, her face flushed. Why does that word sound so insanely erotic coming from Deanna's lips? "Um, yes. It might... tickle quite a bit, actually, so let me know if it's too much."

"Do your worst," Deanna challenges her, and somehow it's both playful and yet with an undercurrent of deep sincerity that gives Beverly a shiver, as well as a sense of defiant determination to do exactly that.

Beverly tests the modified regenerator on herself before doing anything else. Safety first. She checks the settings and activates it. The pink laser-light comes on, looking softer and mistier than it ordinarily does, when the tool is functioning properly. She passes it over the pale skin of her upturned wrist—and drops it to the floor, letting out a yelp of surprise. Even just that little test leaves her skin reverberating with ticklish tingles; she rubs the spot with her other hand to soothe it.

Deanna grins, her eyes shining with excitement. "You're really making a production out of this, aren't you?"

"I've been accused of having a flair for the dramatic," Beverly concedes, picking up the tool again and grasping Deanna by the ankle. "Now hold still." She smiles tightly. "This won't hurt a bit."

"Yes, Doctor," Deanna teases, and then whatever she's going to say next is cut off by a shriek of laughter.

Beverly has to hold her firm as Deanna tries instinctively to struggle away from the regenerator's beam, directed straight at her heel. She yelps in laughter that rises in pitch with each breath, as if she's constantly surprised at the intensity of the sensation. After a few seconds of it, she pulls her foot out of Beverly's hand and sits up to rub it, just as Beverly did.

"You're quite the mad genius, aren't you, coming up with that?" Deanna laughs.

"Too much?" Beverly asks, feeling suddenly awkward and embarrassed, sitting here on the floor with an incorrectly calibrated dermal regenerator in her hand.

"It just surprised me," Deanna reassures her. "Can we try again? I'll be ready this time." Sensing Beverly's hesitation, she gets on hands and knees and crawls over to lean down and plant a kiss on Beverly's lips. "I want this," she says, holding her gaze lovingly and caressing her cheek. "Trust me."

And Beverly finds that she does.

Deanna lies back and presents her feet again, willing and trusting. "Oh, I did like you holding my ankle," she comments, as if suddenly recalling that Beverly can't sense her feelings. "So if you'd like to do that again..."

With a centering breath, gathering her confidence, she grasps Deanna's ankle firmly in one hand and feels the regenerator hum to life in the other. Again she directs the beam at Deanna's heel. She bursts out laughing again, but not so shocked this time. With a surgeon's steady hand, Beverly slowly draws the beam in a gradual zig-zag up her sole, making sure to give every inch of her skin a taste of the tickle.

"Oh-ho-ho, Beverly, that's _cruel!_ " Deanna cackles in ecstasy, play-struggling but not really trying to get free. 

The beam illuminates her foot bright pink, casting shadows in the wrinkles of her sole as her toes wriggle and scrunch. Deanna squeals in laughter and practically bounces on the bed, grasping at the mattress to find some purchase, some way of bracing herself against the intense sensation as the beam plays all over her foot.

"You said you wanted it to really tickle," Beverly points out, finding herself deeply fascinated—and aroused—by watching Deanna writhe on the bed in suffering that isn't really suffering at all, but unmistakable delight. "Is this ticklish enough for you?"

"Oh, it's _horrible!_ " Deanna cries, shaking her head, eyes screwed shut, mouth grinning wide. "Don't stop!"

"It's horrible, don't stop?" Beverly echoes, laughing a little breathlessly at the topsy-turvy absurdity of it. "So you like it when it's horrible? How about this?"

She grasps Deanna by the toes, pulls them firmly back, and directs the beam along her toes' tender, webbed stems. She's instantly rewarded with a new shriek of hysteria; Deanna's leg trembles as she struggles against her own instinct to pull away, rolling back and forth with her hands over her mouth, stifling her own laughter.

"How long can you stand it?" Beverly taunts, stroking the beam along each vulnerable little toe. "Because I can do this all night..."

"Yes," Deanna groans through low laughter mixed with moans. "Yes, yes, oh, I can't stand it! Don't stop!"

Beverly laughs triumphantly, flying high on the adrenaline of making Deanna feel this way, making her feel _so much,_ and in so many directions at once. Of letting this be something they like, something they want—something Beverly wants. Because they're so far past the realm of plausible deniability now, that maybe it's just something she's "trying", or a silly moment of lighthearted exploration. No, no, Beverly wants this. She planned it. She brought _tools_.

She does the other foot, and Deanna just seems to soak up the tickling like sunbathing on Risa. In the end it's Beverly who can't stand it anymore—she _needs_ to touch Deanna's feet. She shuts the regenerator off and throws it aside, overcome with an urgent need to tickle Deanna's feet by hand, to feel her skin beneath her fingertips. They're toasty warm now, the way skin feels after it's been healed, and a sheen of sweat lets Beverly's fingers slide easily along Deanna's soles.

"Mmmm, that feels _so good_ ," Deanna sighs, and then sucks in a breath through her teeth when Beverly lets her nails gently kiss along her arches. "Ah—! It feels— It's so sensitive now, your fingers after the intensity of the machine, I can't even describe..." She trails off into a giggling moan, and her hand slips in between her thighs, reaching into the dark curls there. "Don't stop," she cautions again.

Beverly watches her touch herself and wants so badly to do the same, but she can't bring herself to tear her hands away from Deanna's feet, can't stop stroking her fingertips up and down her soles, tickling and caressing all over... She squirms and bounces on her knees a little as she tickles, rubbing her thighs together, teasing herself.

"God, your feet are so sensitive," she hears herself groan huskily. "They're incredible, it's— Touching them turns me on so much, it makes me so wet..."

"I know," Deanna gasps, and it's true. She does know. She can sense _exactly_ how Beverly feels, exactly how much this arouses her, exactly how often she fantasizes about getting Deanna out of her boots and having her way with her gorgeous feet. There are no secrets between them, no hidden desires—no shame.

Beverly can't take it anymore. Frantic, she climbs up onto the bed and turns around backwards, kneeling over Deanna's leg. Deanna, understanding instantly, moves back and gives her space, allowing her to throw her nightgown out of the way and press her sex against the back of Deanna's foot, rubbing against it as she keeps tickling her soles.

"Oh, yes!" Deanna laughs in delight. "Yes, yes! Tickle me! Don't stop!"

"Oh no, I'm not stopping," Beverly promises breathlessly, grinding her clitoris against her foot. "I'm going to tickle your feet like this all the time! Ohhhh, you're in for it now, I'm going to find your worst spots and tickle you absolutely _silly_ —"

"Don't stop, don't stop!" Deanna cries. "It's going to make me— Ah! I'm going to—" And she lets out a wail of ecstasy; Beverly can feel her body arch and tense beneath her as she comes.

Beverly grasps her foot with both hands and frantically rubs herself against it, unable to even think of anything else as she grinds her way to climax, spilling all her wetness onto Deanna's foot as she's done so many times in her dreams.

Afterward, for a minute Beverly just sits there, half-stunned, catching her breath, feeling her heart pounding in her chest. Aware of clutching Deanna's foot in her hands and between her soaked thighs, and aware of Deanna behind her. Not knowing what she's thinking. She swallows hard, carefully studying the wall in front of her.

"Beverly...?"

Slowly, cautiously, Beverly lifts her knee, lifts off Deanna's foot, and turns around. Deanna is smiling beatifically, practically glowing in pleasure, her curls sweaty against her forehead.

And yet, Beverly still says, with a wry, pleading frown: "Please tell me you don't think I'm strange for doing all that."

"If you're strange for doing it, then what am I for enjoying it?" Deanna counters.

Beverly lies down beside her and cuddles her fiercely, burying her face in Deanna's neck. Deanna strokes her hair affectionately, soothing her until she relaxes into their embrace.

"You did mean it, didn't you?" Deanna asks after a minute, the smile audible in her voice. "About tickling me silly all the time?"

"You know perfectly well that I did," Beverly points out. There's no hiding her intentions from an empath.

"Maybe I like hearing you say it."

Beverly hesitates. It still feels difficult and vulnerable sometimes, saying these things out loud. But for Deanna, she can do it. Gathering her confidence, she draws Deanna close and murmurs into her ear:

"I love tickling you. I love your feet. And I'm not afraid to say it."


End file.
